To Rise and To Fall
by Bird of Ice
Summary: Voldo, the youngest of a noble family's five sons leads an aimless life of brawling and roaming the streets of Palermo, until the day when picking a fight with the bodygurad of an infamous arms dealer changes his life--and himself--forever.
1. Found

To Rise and to Fall

A church bell chimed twice, answered by the double-notes of many others. In mid afternoon, the streets of Palermo were crowded, a blur of feet moving in all directions. There were goods to be bought, and those to be sold, children for minding, friends for gossip, and always a destination to be reached.

Tucked carefully away down a winding alley, a young man was sprawled out on the ground, only partially awake. A place so out of the way would do nothing to fill the pockets of a beggar, but one glimpse of the velvet coat the youth used as a mattress and the silk covering his back made clear his place as a man of status.

He cursed the church bells and tried using a bent arm to cover his ear, only to have the appendage knocked away. As his eyes were forced into focus he found them met by those of a large, mangy dog. He groaned and yanked his arm behind him until his long fingers reached a leather bag of bread and cheese. Pulling out a hunk of each, he then tossed them to his new companion. As he sank back into his semi-conscious state the young man tried to ignore his envy of creature chomping away beside him. If a life ruled only by thirst, hunger and the drive of instinct could be his as well...

Suddenly, a shadow darker than the ones the young man dozed in fell upon him and the dog scampered away. His eyes popped open to see a large figure decked out in military uniform looming above. Still on the ground, the tired one let open his mouth in a yawn, and a groan of disgust came out as well.

"You have been found, Voldo," the figure spoke. "You need to come home."

"So Mom would like to round up her entire flock today, would she?" Voldo replied, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Would that were the case, brother," the standing man replied. "I've come to bring you home as befits Mother's demands, now that our family is one the less. We have just received word that Tiberio is no longer with us."

Voldo just stared into blank space with eyes of glass at hearing of his brother's death. His thoughts were all tangled up in his mind; he could feel the muscles of his forehead tightening as he tried to sort them out. _So my brother's dead. Shouldn't I have more of a reaction than this? I should be screaming or crying or something. What am I even supposed to do now? Go back home; Why? Tiberio's dead, me going home won't change that..._

"Voldo!" the present brother's voice boomed, snapping the younger one out of his daze. "I am sure you are in shock and I understand, but we must be away; I would hate to keep Mother waiting in such a time as this."

His mind in too much of a daze for the usual arguments, Voldo straightened his legs beneath him, hands sweeping the ground until the caught hold of his bag and jacket. He rolled up to a standing position vertebra by vertebra, his brother cringing at the sound each bone made as it popped into place.

"This way," the elder of the two spoke and began to walk, straight and ridged, his well-muscled form filling out his uniform to its fullest. Next to his brother, Vittore's disciplined military style of movement, Voldo appeared more to glide across the cobbled ground, hips and knees twisting like those of a dancer from a land far wilder than Sicily.

The two reached a carriage, and the footman jumped to attention, rushing to open the door for his young masters. Voldo sat down with both feet on the seat cushion, head turned to the side, resting on his knees. He glanced over at his brother, "so how long did it take you to find me?" he asked.

"Not long," Vittore replied.

"Well that's disappointing," said Voldo.

"You shouldn't be surprised, brother," growled Vittore. "Peasents talk, and the streets are full of vagabonds cowering away in alleys. But only one cowers in silk and velvet...and whatever that _thing_ you've got on your wrist is."

Voldo twisted the mass of metal studs and embossed leather covering his left forearm and smiled. "It's a bracer I picked up from some gypsies, jealous of it, are you?"

"I assure you your sense of fashion is not chief among my interests." the elder of the two sighed. "I will, however, let you in on something that _has_ been occupying my mind."

Voldo tilted his neck, cracking it loudly before Vittore was able to continue.

"So peasents do talk, that I have learned while searching you out today. And you would not believe what news they are fascinating themselves with as of late."

"Oh do tell," Voldo hissed, not bothering to hide his complete disinterest with Vittore's little story.

"Well," his brother continued, "it seems that many of these unfortunates are passing the time with a most primitive form of entertainment. All over this city, certain establishments are hosting--now this I'm sure you'll find amusing--competitive boxing matches."

Voldo darted his eyes away from the other man at the mention of underground fighting.

"Are you listening, Voldo?" said Vittore. "Because here's where it gets truly fascinating. Word is that these aren't so much boxing matches as just a circle of drunken fools that gathers to watch two poor souls at a time pummel each other to the ground by any means."

Voldo felt his palms begin to sweat.

"And now you need to brace yourself because you will just_ not believe_ this next little tidbit." Vittore paused for a few seconds before going on. "It seems," he continued, "that the peasants aren't the only ones enjoying these little battles. For the ruffians are all abuzz with talk of one fighter in particular. A real nasty fellow, I've been told his opponents practically have to be scraped off the ground once he's through with a match. They say he's very tall, and of quite a pale complexion; moves like a demon. And, most peculiar of all details, word is he dresses in the garb of a nobleman."

Vittore reached out and caught his little brother's chin in his hand, jerking Voldo's head toward him and forcing direct eye contact. "Does this sound like _anyone you know_?" He seemed to linger on each word as it came out of his mouth.

The carriage then jerked to a stop, and Voldo tore his brother's hand off of his face. "Well we've arrived, Vittore. I'd hate to keep Mother waiting at a time like this," Voldo hissed as he leapt out of the carriage, his thin lips curled up into a mocking smile.


	2. Collected

For a split second, Voldo felt nothing but relief at being out of that carriage. Then he remembered where he was, and the prospect of returning to Vittore's mobile interrogation chamber gained surprising appeal.

Before him was the hive his parents built, a showplace for their fine collection of servants and sons. This was where they'd primped and preened Vittore, the precious first born, crowned prince of their own little kingdom. But one successor is never enough, heavens no! The Lord and Lady weren't satisfied until they'd had themselves a whole litter of sons, all the better to marry and have their own piles of children. Yes, what great breeders of the upper class they would be, Tiberio, Ilario, Guiseppe and Voldo, sweet little Voldo. Precious, precious god damned baby Voldo.

As he pried open one of the set of oaken doors before him, a great gasp screamed form his Voldo's lungs. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath ever since he left the carriage. Curtsying timidly, a maid appeared before him, "the Lady is in the North Parlor," said the girl. She found herself staring at Voldo as he passed by; it was a habit all of the servants seemed to have.

With the enthusiasm of a prisoner on the gallows steps, the young man made his way to the North Parlor. As soon as he stepped through the door he was ambushed. "Voldo!" screamed his mother as she threw her arms around him. The son's body stiffed. He had no idea what to do with his hands or his sanity as the woman buried her face in his chest.

"Oh my baby, my baby we are undone!" she wailed like a cat, grabbing his elbows and pushing away to look up into her son's eyes. "Our Tiberio is gone! My boy gone! And...and you! My young one out on the streets all the time! Oh heaven knows what could hap...what could ha-ha-happen! Oooowaah!" .

It was the third eldest brother, Ilario who freed Voldo from his mother's cling. "Come, mother," he said. "It is best that you don't exert yourself."

The next few hours--or minutes, in all honesty Voldo couldn't tell what measure of time had passed---went by in a blur. The house was full of faces. Staring, crying, talking at him, all intent on filling the young master in on what he'd been "missing" over the past few days.

It seems that this month had seen the end of some battle or other; the name or location of the fighting escaped him. In between movements, his brothers were able to visit their home for the time being. All four of them had chosen to go off to war, and though they had only known a few weeks of battle, one had already managed to get himself killed.

Pacing the halls was Voldo's main pastime at the mansion. When his feet brought him to the scullery, he took the time to bag up a bit of food, and then started walking what appeared to be a deserted hall which would lead him out of the house. As to its emptiness he was mistaken.

The outlines of Vittore and Ilario shone black against a series of French windows at the end of the hall.

"What," Vittore spat, staring at the bag Voldo carried "is that you have in your hand? Unbelievable. You are completely unbelievable. Already trying to flee while our mother is lost in tears and Father is planning the burial of his second son! To think you would go off and abandon us at a time like th-

"Oh what? interrupted Voldo. He had tired too quickly of his brother's empty scolding to let it continue. "So I'm going out for a bit, what of it? Do you truly find any way my presence here is of any help to the situation? Mom's lost a son, well really what of that? She's got more than enough to keep doting on her, doesn't she? Or at least that's how it is for the time being 'till you two go grab Guiseppe so you can fill yourselves with lead as well!"

"Voldo..." Ilario began, but he was cut off as Vittore nearly knocked him over, charging closer to the wiry brat before him.

"You insolent shit! You dare let your mouth spew off such refuse? Turning your back on our dear parents just isn't enough for you, you must continue and directly insult the rest of the family! You have no right to speak against we who hold the decency to take up arms as you live as a canker on the streets of the very city we fight for! With what depth of Hell's fires will you find yourself satisfied?"

"Ah take up arms, take up arms," Voldo shouted. "How can you not see it? You stand here bothering to speak to me of Hell when you will get to see its gates far before I!"

Voldo took a pause to reclaim his breath before going on.

"Take a look around you. This house, these clothes. Battlefields spill red blood, not blue. Our status is enough to save us from the obligation of war, yet you choose to throw your lives away! I'd expect that from you, my oh so brilliant Vittore, as well as the others, but Ilario..."

"My status is why I must fight, brother," Ilario finally spoke up. "This kingdom has allowed me to grow up knowing not emptiness of cup nor pocket. If all it seeks in return is my sword, than I should be grateful to lend it."

Voldo just stared at Ilario, cold , narrowed eyes locking with a pair alight with life. In seconds the gaze was broken, and the youngest man pushed past the other two to the door beyond.

He hadn't made it out of the courtyard before the sound of footsteps came from behind.

"You know it's Sunday," Ilario said. "You'll have trouble finding a tavern to fight in."

Voldo stopped in his tracks. "So you know too?"

Ilario nodded. "That's what I don't understand. You run off to free your fists in back alleys, and here with the kingdom threatened, you have a _reason _to fight, a good and true one, yet you won't take it."

"I fight to free myself," Voldo told his brother. "To face a man in the height of his skill and instinct, armed with nothing but my own, or to stand before a gray field of rifles and cannons...no mythical pride could bring me to choose the latter option."

"I see," said Ilario. "Well the way I see it, a life is only lived when one finds something he is willing to die for. I have my passion and my duty, and it is all I can do to hope that one day you find yours."

Pulling his lips into a smile, Voldo let out a laugh. He'd figured it was the best thing to keep his brother from realizing just how much the sheer truth of those words stung him. In all of his eighteen years, the world had given him nothing to live for. He wandered as a ghost, filled with only with the terror of an entire life of emptiness stretched out before him.

Voldo turned his back and began to walk through the gate, calling out to his brother as he did. "Well, Ilario, you keep doing your best to throw your life away, and if this world ever manages to produce anything worth it, I'll give it mine."


	3. Discovered

On the correct side of his parents' limestone walls, Voldo had claimed one more night for himself. Moving without a specific destination, he wanted only to find whatever would come quickest to quiet his thoughts. He knew well that he couldn't just will himself into peace; but pushing his body through the right amount of pain or fatigue was the balm to still his mind. Tavern matches were really the ideal escape; and if this night had none to be found, he could always walk himself to exhaustion, or stop somewhere and stretch his muscles and tendons to their limits.

As Voldo put himself about a dozen or so blocks from the mansion he couldn't get over the amazement of having made is so far without interruption. Really he more than half expected one of his brothers to chase him down and try and convince him (or just scream at him, in Vittore's case) to come back to the hive. There was no such bad luck in that area, however; it seemed to be reserved for the department of tavern matches, as one after an other of the usual establishments was found with darkened lights and barred doors.

Sighing, Voldo just kept walking. Then he felt a drop of water soak into his hair, and another on his shoulder...and his hand...and his back. Then...downpour. "Are you serious?" Voldo growled at the leaking sky. He kicked at the ground and then noticed a tiny movement from the corner of his eye. A blonde-colored cat was sitting in the shelter of a great stone building's archway, carefully licking one of its paws. "You" he called out to the creature as he entered the alcove, "have the right idea."

Voldo plopped down next to the cat, but didn't reach out to pet it, quite sure it wouldn't appreciate his sopping hand further dampening its fur. Digging out a slice of cured meat for the cat, Voldo stretched his legs out in front of him and rested his back against the wall. His damp clothes clung to him and sucked the warmth right out of his body; yet somehow he felt a strange sort of comfort from the cool stone on which he rested. As he leaned back his head and allowed his eyes to come to a close, he was completely unaware that he was being watched.

Across the soaking cobbles, two bodies were shifting their weight from foot to foot, arms clutched in their best effort to fight the chill rain. One of them, a barrel-chested hulk of a man called Dione turned to his less remarkable companion.

"Luca, there's a man over there."

The smaller of the two had his neck craned past the empty carriage in his charge. He had also taken notice of the youth newly planted in a building's entryway less than half a block away.

"What is he doing?" Luca asked himself. "He's just sitting there. Why's he out on a night like this?" Dione had grown quite used to the other's fondness for rhetorical questions.

"I don't like it," the larger man groaned. "Not a single soul would be out on a night like this by his own will."

Luca was still gawking at the stranger. "Looks like he's just a kid..._why_ is he out here?" He strained to get a better look. "Are his eyes closed?"

"If they are," said the other, " It could be a front. There's no way he's asleep."

The large man furrowed his brow as he squinted through the curtains of rain at the reclining figure. Instinctively, his right hand crept toward the handle of the dagger at his waist. "I don't recognize this one, but we can't have him here." He told the driver. "I'm getting rid of him. If the Master comes out, get him into the carriage as soon as possible, and keep your eyes open in case this one's just a scout."

"God dammed assassins," Luca mumbled and looked about himself nervously as his companion stalked across the cobbles.

Voldo felt a slight breeze as the cat suddenly darted away from his side. Before he could wonder what had startled the creature, he heard heavy footsteps coming in his direction. He popped one eye open.

"Vittore, I have done my good deed for the month now why don't you do yours and leave me the hell--" the words froze in his throat as the figure drew nearer.

"You're not Vittore."

The man before Voldo spoke, shooting out his words in rapid succession "Who are you? Who sent you?"

Voldo laughed. "I'm a man. Sitting here. On this stoop. If you want to know who sent me, I am sorry. I wouldn't wish the pleasure of my family's company on you or anyone else."

Dione had not the patience for the young man's jokes. "If you would not like to give your name, than so be it, you can keep it to yourself and _leave_."

"And what a fine idea that is." Voldo sighed. "A spot like this doesn't always come along so easily you know. If I leave now, who knows what sort of beggar could inherit it."

"You misunderstand me, boy" the behemoth growled. "Never did I give you the _option _of parting from here." In a slow and deliberate movement, he moved his white-knuckled hand from the dagger handle it had been clutching to that of a significantly larger blade. The display did not escape Voldo. He could feel a smile beginning to crack across his face.

"Well that's fine, because never did I _consider _the option of parting from here." His smile grew; there was something about prodding a sleeping beast that only made him want to drive the rod deeper into its ribs. Here was layer upon layer of muscle, already tensing with the rigidly of anger; nothing like the desperate peasants who swung their fists away in taverns. Though the stranger did not come close his own six feet in height, his sheer bulk was noting to be dismissed. Voldo did enjoy fighting in general, but provoking a man such as this could very well gain him a fight for his own life. His body all but trembled with excitement at the thought of such a match. _What_, Voldo wondered as he licked his lips _will be the straw to break this camel's back_?

In a quick glance past the man before him Voldo noticed another in identical clothing, eying the two from a carriage about twenty or so paces away. "And really, what concern does a fine gentleman such as yourself have with my claim to this little piece of stone?" Voldo went on. "Do I sully the view from that carriage over there?"

Dione could feel the urge to snap this brat's neck swelling within him. "If your seeming lack of knowledge as to my purpose here or for whom that carriage awaits is indeed genuine, then you would be glad in your ignorance, and even more so in putting this place behind you!" he spat.

Voldo was just glowing now. "Oh would I? Well now you've just gone and got me intrigued. I think I'd like to stay here and wait to find out who that carriage belongs to."

As Voldo tilted his head back to the wall, Dione caught him by the collar of his jacket and yanked him to his feet. In one quick motion, Voldo bent foreword, threw his arms behind him and twisted right out of the garment.

With his eyes bulging open and lips pulled out into a maniac grin, the young man's handsome face had twisted its self into something straight out of a nightmare. His bared teeth opened to the brute before him, "You come get rid of me! Do it! Oh you'd better do it! Just remember that you made the first move!" Voldo's words were cracked with utter ecstasy as he yelled them.

Dione charged with his sword, a curved, single-edged weapon of Moorish design, held right at shoulder-height for an easy horizontal strike. Adrenaline had already done its job of washing away most of Voldo's higher consciousness. _Blade._ A small inner voice sputtered. _Sword. Get rid of it. _

At once, Voldo rose to the ball of his left foot and spun around, turning his back to the armed man. Before the bodyguard could even comprehend his opponent's nonsensical move, Voldo's right heel shot straight into his chest.

The blow sent the air screaming out of Dione's lungs, but from what Voldo could see out of his peripheral vision, the man was still standing. Keeping his back to the attacker, Voldo took a few swift back-steps, and as soon as he felt the heat of the enemy's body, he let a sharp jerk of the hips twist his torso to the right, using the momentum to drive his bony elbow atraight into Dione's face.

The force of the movement threw Voldo into yet another one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. He caught himself to face the other man, who's meaty neck and torso were still twisted away from the last blow. Sucking in the pain ripping though his face, Dione let his twisting motion build up tension in the muscles of his core, and released, whipping his body and blade around in a white arc of frightening speed...

The sword tearing toward him, Voldo threw back his hands and head, forcing his upper body to fall backward. The plummet from his full height gave him just enough time to arch his back and straighten his wrists. With a soft thump, his hands caught the wet ground, and a gust of wind rustled past his stretched-out belly as the sword whipped by mere inches above.

Now that all four limbs were on the ground, Voldo took full advantage of them and "ran" away like some great pale insect before his opponent could get another strike in. Dione could not believe what he was seeing, but never the less he charged foreword.

Voldo couldn't see the other man in his current stance, but he could sense rapid movement from the same direction as the last sword stroke. Quickly he bent his arms, lowering his head and upper back toward the ground and kicked off. He pushed from the arms and threw both legs into the air, shoving them straight out in one fluid movement that drove both feet into the solid flesh of his opponent's abdomen. He used the other man's collapsing body as a step-ladder, climbing his feet from stomach to chest to shoulder and kicking off hard to come to a full vertical handstand. With the controlled movements of an acrobat, Voldo bent from the hips and slammed his feet down between his hands to return to a standing position.

Dione was face down on the cobblestone, struggling to get up; but Voldo sure as hell wasn't going to let that happen. He flew toward the man in wide strides and leapt over his grounded head and shoulders, coming to a hard landing with his left knee planted square in the middle of the brute's back. Voldo's other leg ended up stretched out alongside Dione's head...which sputtered out a pathetic groan as he shifted his weight and drove the knee still deeper into the layers of protesting bone and tissue. Gracefully, the young man raised his right leg along his side, held it out straight and spun on his planted knee like a ceramic figure in the Devil's music box.

An inhuman roar erupted from Dione's throat as Voldo brought his spinning to a stop, now with his head facing the same direction as the sorry beast beneath him. With all of his speed, he dropped down his extended right leg and hooked it around the fallen man's right arm, contracting the leg's muscles until the captive limb's fingers popped open and surrendered their blade.

Grabbing Dione's sword, Voldo jumped off of his body and stood up straight, twirling the weapon around and around in one slender hand. He could feel eyes on him, and the shadow of Luca appeared beyond a pillar. Eyes darting and lips twitching, Voldo tossed the captured sword aside and threw his voice above the sickening clatter of steel on stone.

"Ahhha'nother one!" his scream tore at his throat as he charged at the newcomer. All Voldo could feel at that moment.--all he knew--was pounding. Heart pounding his chest, feet pounding the cobbles, blood pounding the walls of his arties and veins. Then came a new sensation...

With a sudden popping sound and flash of light, his right shoulder erupted in an unbearable red heat. It shook through to the bones of his arm, and Voldo let out a scream like a hunted animal. Pressing his opposite hand to the throbbing joint, he could feel an oozing stream of hot liquid. He'd never known pain like this and it sent him into a blind rage, charging even faster and clawing at the air with tortured hands. Then there was another pop and flash, and this time it was his left thigh that exploded. The limb collapsed on his next footfall, and his body collided with the soaking ground. The next thing he knew, there were multiple voices and dark figures all around him...and a hand was pressing a moist, pungent smelling cloth over his nose and mouth.

Then everything went black.


End file.
